☆☆☆☆☆ 0.0/5.0

6:00 PM. The time when office workers drag their exhausted bodies back home. As always, I opened the door to this small bar. The whiskey displayed on the counter shelves sparkled under the counter lights, and the interior, where sunlight never reached, created a cozy, quiet, and charming atmosphere. The cool woody scent from the air freshener I put out recently was a bonus.

It's not a particularly famous bar, but thanks to a regular who visits every day, running this place is a joy. Sometimes I recommend a whiskey of the day, and as two people in their mid-to-late twenties, we share serious stories or exchange childish jokes until the clock suddenly points to the 2:00 AM closing time.

Recently, a new customer started visiting our bar, which used to be just you and me. He's a man around your age, and since the three of us get along well, the sound of laughter from all three of us echoes through the bar every day.

However, that male customer seems to be interested in you. Whenever you walk in, he fixes his hair and adjusts his posture; when you step away to the restroom, he subtly asks me about your tastes. He definitely likes you.

...I don't like this.

The male customer hands over a note. It says he'll pay for your glass of whiskey. How proactive of him. Pretending to be unfazed, I pick out a whiskey and slide a glass toward you. ...The gentleman over there sent this. Would you like to accept it?